Heart of the Matter
by Virginiana
Summary: A sequel to Renaissance. Foyle's feelings toward Katherine have grown more serious, but will circumstances – and a newly-arrived American officer – destroy his hopes of building a future with her?
1. Chapter 1: Luncheon Reunion

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 **Part One: Luncheon reunion**

 _Author's note: Like its prequel, Renaissance, this is a story I wrote a decade ago. Recently my muse has inspired me to continue this plot with some new stories, which are still in progress._

 _As always, feedback is deeply appreciated!_

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 _Saturday 28 March 1942_

Christopher Foyle strode swiftly up Steep Lane, hands thrust in the pockets of his overcoat, trilby pulled low over his forehead against the brisk March breeze. On the outside he appeared much as he always did – calm, deliberate, every inch the ranking police officer. Inside, however, he was bursting with the anticipation of a schoolboy on the first day of the summer holidays. At last, he was going to be reunited with Katherine Neville-West. _His_ Katherine, as he had come to think of her.

From December through February they had seen each other every weekend, either for a dinner engagement or for a home-cooked meal at her flat. He had revelled in her company as he'd squired her to quiet restaurants and dancing establishments. No less delightful were the cosy evenings he'd spent at home with her and her young daughter Cecily. They'd enjoyed the sort of simple, homely pleasures that he hadn't experienced since his son Andrew was small – playing parlour games, doing jigsaw puzzles, laughing at wireless programmes. Sometimes he had listened as Katherine read aloud to Cecily in that soft, melodious voice he had come to love. After she had put the child to bed they would sit together and talk, her knitting needles clicking softly as she fashioned yet another sock in Navy black. It had been the happiest winter he'd spent in years. With each passing week, he grew more certain that he wanted to make her his wife.

In March, however, an unfortunate series of events had prevented him from seeing her for several weeks. The first weekend he'd been called away to Yorkshire for Andrew's wedding, an event which had fortunately been aborted.* Katherine had been forced to cancel their plans for the second weekend when Cecily had fallen ill with influenza. A few days later, she reported that the little girl was nearly recovered and happily accepted his invitation for the upcoming Saturday. But after he'd looked forward to this dinner all week, Katherine had come down with a bad case of 'flu herself.

Foyle found, as their separation dragged on, that he'd missed her even more than he would have expected. Oh, he'd telephoned her two or three times a week, but it wasn't the same. He wanted to touch her, to see the warmth in her dark eyes when she smiled, to take her in his arms and kiss her deeply and passionately. He found himself unable to stop thinking about her at odd moments throughout the day, and fretted a good deal about her and Cecily during their illnesses. He had last spoken to her two nights ago from London, where he was attending yet another civil defence conference. "Feeling better?"

"Much better, thanks," she had assured him, though her voice still sounded a bit weak to him.

"Well, this meeting doesn't break up until Friday afternoon, and I doubt I'll get home until late. Think you'll be up to dinner Saturday night?"

"Oh … I don't think so, Christopher. That is, I'm sure I'll feel fine, but I'm on at the canteen. I've already missed the last two Saturdays." She broke off with a deep cough. Katherine volunteered at the WVS canteen at RAF Lympne and she was punctilious about doing her bit. In addition to working daytime hours while her daughter was in school, she worked on Saturday night at least twice a month – the shift the canteen manager found hardest to staff.

He stifled a groan. "Look, this is getting ridiculous! D'you realise it's nearly a month since we've seen each other?"

"I know," she replied. He could hear echoes of his own frustration in her voice. "It does seem the fates are conspiring against us, doesn't it?"

"Well, what about during the day? Could you make lunch on Saturday?"

"Lunch? Yes, I think so. Cecily made a kite at school this week and I've promised her that we'll fly it Saturday afternoon. But we'd love to have lunch with you first." They'd settled on noon at the Sea View Café before ringing off.

Reaching the restaurant ten minutes early he stood waiting for them on the pavement, trying to contain his eagerness. He paid no attention to the glorious early-spring day – high clouds skittering along in the wind, sunlight sparkling off the Channel in the distance – as he waited for mother and daughter to arrive. At last he glimpsed them approaching: Katherine, trim and graceful in her maroon coat and hat, Cecily skipping alongside her, braids swinging, carrying a bright red kite more than half her own size. His heart leapt at the sight of these two people who had become so enormously important to him.

Spotting him, the little girl ran ahead, beaming. "Hello, Mr Foyle!" He was touched when she threw her free arm round him and hugged him awkwardly about the waist. He returned her greeting, marvelling as always at her liveliness, but all the time acutely aware of her mother's presence. Just the sound of her soft voice speaking his name sent a ridiculous thrill through him.

"Katherine. So good to see you. Been far too long." He wanted very much to kiss her but of course the proprieties didn't permit such displays in public, even if her seven-year-old daughter hadn't been present. He gestured toward the door of the café. "Shall we go in?"

* * *

The meal was a jolly one. Christopher's heart warmed with the pleasure of being with them again. Cecily kept them entertained with chatter about school and her small world and the conversation flowed easily. In response to his query, Katherine assured him that she was quite recovered from her 'flu, though he thought she still looked rather pale. "How is Andrew?" she asked.

"Fine, last I heard." He'd had no contact with his son since his trip to Yorkshire three weeks ago, but there was nothing particularly unusual in that, since the lad was a poor correspondent at the best of times. They smiled at each other, their eyes locking for a long moment. _Soon_ , Christopher promised himself. _Very soon now, I'll ask her._

Lunch over, they set off together to fly Cecily's kite. Foyle knew the perfect venue, a wide, open meadow near one of his favourite fishing spots at the river. He had taken Andrew kite-flying there many times in years past. The spring sunshine and the delightful companionship made him feel relaxed and light-hearted, and mother and daughter seemed equally happy.

After an hour or so, Cecily tired of her kite and wandered over to the riverbank where she became entranced by a flock of ducklings paddling along in their mother's wake. Squealing with glee, she danced along the bank in pursuit. Christopher and Katherine followed some distance behind, walking more slowly. His eyes drank in her heart-shaped face, her beautiful dark eyes, her cheeks pink from the exercise. _God, how I've missed her!_ It took all his self-restraint not to pull her into his arms and hold her close.

"I'm glad we've got a few minutes to talk," Katherine said. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?"

"Do you remember Charlie Sutcliffe, that American we met a few weeks ago at the Royal Victoria?"

Christopher's already erect posture straightened imperceptibly. "Yyyyes," he said in a carefully noncommittal tone. He did indeed remember Colonel Sutcliffe. Only too well, as it happened.

* * *

On St. Valentine's Day, some six weeks before, Christopher had taken Katherine out to dinner and dancing at the Royal Victoria Hotel. It was a more formal setting than most of their dates, other than the time he'd taken her to the Carlisle back in December. Katherine had looked especially beautiful that evening, he remembered, in a sleek black cocktail dress, glowing with quiet pleasure. Watching her covertly while they waited for a table, Christopher had wondered if the time had come for him to tell her how he felt. Was she ready to hear it? Might she even be ready to reciprocate?

The hush of the elegant hotel lobby was interrupted by the entrance of five or six American army officers. Talking and laughing loudly, flat accents reverberating, the group made its noisy way toward the bar. Then one of the officers did a double take and stopped, turning in their direction.

"Kathy? Kathy Morgan?" he called, squinting at Katherine.

She turned quickly toward him, her face registering stunned surprise. "Good Lord," she murmured. " _Charlie_?"

The man closed the space between them in a few long strides. "Kathy!" he bellowed, sweeping her into a bear hug and kissing her full on the lips. "What the hell are you doing here?" Next to her, Christopher's back stiffened. _What the devil_ …

"Why, I … I live here," she said, cheeks slightly pink as she wriggled out of his embrace.

"That's right, you married an Englishman, didn't you? Some professor?"

"Yes, yes, that's right." Foyle thought her voice sounded strained.

"So this is him, huh?" boomed the American, turning to Foyle and pumping his hand vigorously. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with wavy dark hair, a wide, loose mouth and an air of brash confidence. "Pleased to meet you. Charlie Sutcliffe. I'm an old friend of Kathy's from her college days."

Katherine blushed. "Actually, I go by Katherine now," she corrected him. "Katherine Neville-West. This is Christopher Foyle."

Foyle waited for the man to notice the different surname, to realise that he wasn't her husband. It didn't happen.

"Quite a surprise, seeing you here," Katherine said, her soft, melodious voice contrasting sharply with the man's strident tones. "And in uniform … major, is it?"

"Major! Hell no, Kathy! _Lieutenant_ _Colonel_ , US Army Air Forces. I came over last month to plan new air installations. There's gonna be a lot more of us over here before long."

"High time, too," she replied, her words carrying an emphasis that Foyle didn't miss. "How are your children, Charlie? It's been so long since I've seen them."

"Oh, they're great, great! Jack started at Hotchkiss this year, you know. Chip off the old block. Rows sculls just like his old man. And Todd goes next fall."

"And Ginny?"

"Prettiest little thing you ever saw! She's gonna break some hearts, that one."

"And … how is your wife?" Her voice had a slightly crisp edge.

The man's bonhomie faded somewhat. "Oh … well. That didn't quite take. We split up last year."

"I see," said Katherine quietly. "I'm sorry to hear that, Charlie."

"Well, what'cha gonna do?" he shrugged, flashing her a saucy grin. "Plenty more fish in the sea, anyway, right?"

"If you say so," she replied coolly.

"Say, why don't you two join me for a drink? Talk about old times. We can catch up …" Sutcliffe gestured expansively in the direction of the bar.

"I don't think so, Charlie," she said firmly. "I'm afraid our plans don't permit it. But it's been quite a surprise, running into you like this. Good luck." She extended her hand in a gesture of farewell that even the brash American couldn't miss.

"Yeah, sure. You take care of yourself, Kathy." After a quick handshake, Sutcliffe strode away and disappeared into the bar. A moment later a burst of loud male laughter echoed across the lobby.

Foyle looked at Katherine, who was still flushed. "I'm sorry, Christopher," she said, sounding abashed. "He married one of my old college friends. I haven't seen him in years."

"It doesn't matter," he assured her, wishing he knew exactly what was distressing her. Was she embarrassed because he'd mistaken Foyle for her late husband? Or was there some other reason? Was he an old beau, perhaps, who had dropped her in favour of her friend? Her obvious discomfort suggested more than a casual relationship, but it seemed better not to pursue the topic. "So … Kathy Morgan?"

She smiled and he could see her relax. "Yes. Also a long time ago. Morgan was my maiden name, and I'm Kathy to my Wellesley friends. There were three Katherines in my dorm freshman year, you see, so we all wound up with nicknames. I never really liked it, though. I've been Katherine to one and all ever since I moved to England."

"What about when you were growing up?"

"Mrs Oliver always called me 'Miss Katherine' – probably why I've always liked the name. And Dad called me Katie. What about you? Did you ever go by Chris? Or Kit?"

"No, never been one for nicknames. My father called me Chris when I was small sometimes, but it never really took."

"I can see that. It doesn't suit you." Just then the _maitre d'hotel_ signalled that their table was ready. Once they were seated, the conversation turned to other matters and neither of them mentioned the American officer again. The incident with Sutcliffe, however, had left a strangely bitter taste in his mouth, and he decided that the time was not yet right to disclose his feelings.

* * *

Now, walking beside the river on this blustery March afternoon, she had brought him up again. Why? Really, it was ridiculous for him to feel jealous over some boyfriend of long ago, wasn't it? Even if he was tall and handsome and assured? And – his stomach twisted – unattached? Christopher willed his features into a carefully neutral mask as she continued.

"Well, he rang me up a few days ago. It seems he's come over here to set up air bases for the American army. Bomber bases. It's quite complicated, apparently – they need to work with the local authorities to get clearances, hire local workers to construct hangars, runways … anyway, he's found he needs someone who understands English ways and can work with the local community to help smooth things. And he thought of me."

Foyle's eyebrows shot up. "You're saying he's offered you a job?"

"Yes. I must say, it's everything I've been looking for. Something that could make a real difference in the war effort. He's even willing to let me work only while Cecily's in school. And the timing is – well, providential."

He struggled keep his distress from his face. He didn't like the idea at all. She'd be working closely with that odious man, day after day, following his orders … his stomach contracted harder as he remembered how he'd kissed her at the Royal Victoria, so confidently, so possessively. "Well, well," he said noncommittally.

"There's just one thing." She sounded slightly hesitant now. "This job, Christopher – it's in Norfolk."

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*For the backstory behind this, read my story _The Breakup_.


	2. Chapter 2: Moving away?

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 **Part Two: Moving away?**

" _Norfolk?_ " Christopher stopped dead in his tracks to stare at her.

"Yes. The divisional headquarters are about twenty miles outside Norwich."

He was speechless with incredulity. _She can't be serious … Norwich? Might as well be the other side of the moon! Travel has become so difficult that I'd probably never see her._ When he found his voice, his words came out in a stammer. "So … so … er … you've accepted, then?"

"Not yet. I'm considering it. He needs an answer by Monday. It's a big decision, you know." She glanced away, out at the gently rippling current.

Christopher felt as though he'd been kicked in the solar plexus. He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to absorb the blow. "Long way, Norfolk," he said stiffly.

"Yes, that's the problem. It's hard to think about moving just when we've really gotten settled in and feel a part of things here. Do you realise that we've been in Hastings longer than anywhere else we've lived since Cecily was born? She's doing well in school, she's made friends, we're near family here - I hate to leave, but …"

"Then why go?"

"Well, I've been looking for an opportunity like this for a long time, Christopher. I really feel I have to give it serious consideration."

 _Opportunity for what?_ thought Foyle, utterly mystified. _What on earth could be the attraction in moving to the wilds of Norfolk?_ He opened his mouth to ask her, then abruptly closed it again as the obvious answer struck him. _Sutcliffe. Oh, Christ! She has feelings for him and she wants to go up there to be with him._ He stared at her, blank-faced with shock, as a sudden icy tightness gripped his chest.

Katherine looked at him wordlessly. Her expression changed subtly as she studied his expression, the corners of her mouth drooping slightly.

The silence between them was broken abruptly by a shriek and a splash from the riverbank. Turning, Foyle barely had time to register that Cecily had disappeared from view before Katherine had started to run. He followed, trying to overtake her with his longer stride. He knew her well enough to be sure that she wouldn't hesitate to jump in to pull her daughter out and he was determined to prevent her, especially since she was barely recovered from her 'flu.

Sure enough, the girl was struggling upright in the knee-deep current close by the riverbank, water streaming from her long braids. "I'll look after it," he grunted, pushing past Katherine. "Stay back, you'll catch pneumonia …" Straining a little, he was able to reach out far enough to pull the dripping, shivering child up the bank.

"I'm sorry, Mummy," she wailed as her mother pulled off her own coat and tucked it around her, clucking soothingly. "I s-s-slipped in the mud …"

Christopher's inner turmoil over Katherine's announcement was pushed to the background by the need to get Cecily out of the chilly wind as quickly as possible. Wrapping his own coat atop Katherine's, they hurried her the quarter-mile or so back to the main road where by great good fortune they were able to flag down a passing taxi. Together they bundled the child inside. "16, Seymour Terrace," Foyle ordered.

Once there, he paid the driver and escorted them to the flat. "I should go," he told Katherine, who had already started peeling off Cecily's layers of coats. "You'll need to get her into a hot bath."

"Yes, of course … I'm sorry about this, Christopher. I should have been watching her more closely ... there, Cecily, now go start drawing yourself a bath." She turned back to him as the child disappeared. "Thank you so much for all your help. And for the lunch. It was lovely ... "

"A pleasure." He took his coat from her and they stood in awkward silence for a moment. He wanted to beg her not to go away, not to throw away what they had together. He wanted to fling his coat aside, crush her in his arms and kiss her without mercy until she agreed to stay and be with him always. But he couldn't. If she cared for someone else … but he _had_ to say something …

"Umm … about this job ..." the words stuck in his throat. "You … you will let me know what you decide, won't you?"

She blinked in surprise. "Why, of course …" she faltered. Unable to think of anything else to say, he nodded a stiff farewell, trying to ignore the hollow ache in his chest as he stepped back so she could shut the door.

* * *

Foyle slumped forward in his favourite armchair, head in hands. _Where did I go wrong?_ he wondered dismally. _It all seemed to be going so well …_ His mind was whirling. He'd been so sure that she cared for him, at least a little. She had always seemed to enjoy their time together as much as he had.

The unexpectedness of Katherine's announcement had been shock enough. Worse still was the fact that he had gradually come to feel so positive about the possibility of sharing his life with them that he had begun to take it for granted. He looked across to the dining room. How many times, while eating his solitary dinner, had he glanced left and right and envisioned Katherine and Cecily seated on either side of him? How often had he pictured the little girl sprawled on the sitting-room carpet playing with her dolls? How frequently had he reached out in the night and imagined, rather than cold emptiness, Katherine's soft warmth cuddling up to him? Fantasies like these had warmed many a chill winter evening but now, he realised bleakly, he was going to pay dearly for his overconfidence. It was as thought the pair had invaded his home just as surely as they had invaded his heart.

* * *

The rest of Katherine's day was a whirlwind of non-stop activity. After helping Cecily to bathe and dress, she changed into her dark green WVS uniform and hurried the child off to the bus stop to take her to the nearby village of Battle. Cecily usually spent the night with her aunt and cousins there while her mother was on duty at the base canteen. After dropping her off, she caught another bus to the aerodrome. As usual, it was buzzing with activity and the canteen staff were kept busy making and serving tea and coffee until well past midnight. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning before she reached home.

She tumbled wearily into bed, her usual fatigue at the end of a Saturday night shift compounded by the toll her recent bout of illness had taken on her stamina. Despite her exhaustion, however, she slept fitfully. Not only was she struggling with her decision, but she was also troubled by a nagging sense of disappointment that she couldn't quite pinpoint.

* * *

Poor as Katherine's rest was, Christopher's night was worse. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face hovering before him, heard her melodious voice echo in his mind. Over and over he relived the exquisite pleasure of her kiss, just as he had done so many other nights during the past several weeks. Their enforced separation had manifested itself not only as a distraction during his waking hours but also in the form of disconcertingly erotic dreams. He had supposed that a man nearing fifty would be beyond such things, but his restless nights were proving quite otherwise.

His frustration was no doubt exacerbated by the restraint he had imposed upon himself after their second date, when he had allowed himself to be carried away by his attraction to her. Katherine, clearly distressed, had called an abrupt halt, and he had been very careful not to offend her again. Since that occasion he had tried to restrict their physical contact to dancing, holding hands and carefully controlled, if passionate, goodnight kisses. Over time he had found it increasingly difficult to maintain such rigid discipline over his desires, but in the main he had succeeded, promising himself that his self-restraint would be rewarded once they were married. But now … he rolled over and punched his pillow for the umpteenth time, groaning with frustrated longing. Tonight, for the first time in weeks, his sexual urges were overshadowed by the empty ache in his chest.

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	3. Chapter 3: Sisterly Confessions

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 **Part Three: Sisterly confessions**

Katherine slept late next morning. Upon awakening, she dressed quickly, frowning in the mirror at the dark circles under her eyes, and gulped a hasty cup of tea before leaving to catch the bus back out to Battle. She arrived just as the family was returning from church, the children clutching palm leaf crosses in honour of Palm Sunday.

"Katherine, darling," her sister-in-law greeted her, brushing a kiss on her cheek. "What on earth's the matter? You look dreadful!"

"I'm just tired," Katherine assured her. "Busy shift last night."

Sarah eyed her shrewdly, but said nothing more until Sunday dinner was finished and the table cleared. She shooed Cecily and her six-year-old daughter Polly outside to play in the spring sunshine and put her baby son Theo down for a nap. Julian and Gordon, the older boys, disappeared to pursue their own devices. As always, Katherine admired the brisk efficiency with which she handled her brood. Sarah's husband Max did classified intelligence work somewhere in Buckinghamshire and only managed to get home about once a month, but she coped quite well without him.

She had always been fond of Sarah, her late husband's younger sister. It had been she, more than anyone else in Stephen's family, who had tried to make his American bride feel welcome when she'd married into the family twelve years ago, and she had proven a marvellous source of support after his destroyer was torpedoed nearly two years before. They'd never lived close enough to permit frequent contact while Stephen was alive, but after the _Whirlwind's_ loss Katherine had taken up residence in Hastings and the two women had become very close.

The children out of the way, she steered her sister-in-law to an overstuffed sofa in the sitting room and brought in a tea-tray. "Now then," she said, pouring them each a cup. "Talk to me. You're completely preoccupied with something. What is it?"

Katherine smiled wryly; she should have known better than to think she could deceive Sarah's perceptive eye. Dear, dear Sarah. What would she have done without her this past year and a half? Her smile faded as she stirred her tea. "You're right," she admitted. "There is something. I think … I've finally found a job."

"Oh?" Sarah knew how long and hard she'd been searching for suitable employment. "But that's good news, isn't it? Why the long face?"

"Because … well, because it would mean moving. To Norfolk." She explained about the Army Air Corps offer.

Sarah was aghast. "But _Norfolk_? You can't be thinking of taking it, can you?"

"Well … yes."

"My dear! You're not serious! _Norfolk?_ Have you any idea how remote a place that is? You might as well move to the Outer Hebrides! Have you ever _been_ to Norfolk?"

"Of course I have. Remember that year we lived in Ipswich? We drove all round East Anglia."

"I don't understand, Katherine," said Sarah unhappily. "You've always said how glad you are to be near family here. What makes you suddenly want to leave Hastings?"

"Of course I don't want to leave Hastings! But it's too good an opportunity to miss."

"How can moving to the middle of nowhere _possibly_ be a good opportunity?"

"Well, it's a chance to do something really useful for the war effort. And they've said I can fit my work hours around Cecily's school schedule. And, well … the salary's quite generous. It's in dollars, not pounds, but it comes out to more than twice my Navy survivors' pension." She said this last bit very softly, not looking at her sister-in-law.

" _Katherine_ ," Sarah said, sounding shocked. "Is this about money?"

She looked down into her teacup, avoiding Sarah's eye. "Partly," she confessed uncomfortably. "Up to now I've managed fine, really, but the way prices keep going up ... Mrs Ramsey's having to raise our rent next month. And then there's the doctor; we've had three house calls in the past fortnight. Besides, it's high time I start thinking about the future. I can't just scrape by forever on Stephen's Navy pension. I need to start saving for Cecily's education, for one thing. This job – it's everything I could have hoped for, really."

Sarah set down her cup. "You know, dear," she said, choosing her words carefully, "You needn't do this if you don't want to. I'm sure my parents would be glad to help out –"

"No." Katherine broke in, her tone clipped. "Absolutely not. I won't consider it."

"Really, Katherine, you and Cecily are Stephen's family! I know you've had your difficulties with Mama, but – " she broke off, unsure of her ground.

"Sarah," said Katherine firmly, "You know as well as I do that any financial assistance from your parents would come with strings attached."

"Strings?"

"Expectations. I don't like to criticise your mother, dear, but she doesn't approve of me any more now than she did when I married your brother. Admit it. If I accepted support from them, I'd start hearing that my friends aren't the right sort and that I ought to send Cecily to a proper girls' school, not that 'common primary'. She might even try to make me move back in with them at Folkestone." Sarah was silent, knowing that she spoke the truth. "Why do you think I only stayed up there a fortnight after the _Whirlwind_ was lost? I just can't live that way, Sarah. I have to be able to make my own decisions."

"Even if it means moving away?"

"Even if it means moving away."

Sarah looked disappointed. "You sounds as though you've made up your mind, then."

"Well, not entirely, but I am leaning toward it."

"We'll miss you, darling. Polly will be heartbroken. She and Cecily are such chums."

"I know," said Katherine sadly. "I hate tearing her away from everything familiar. She's settled in so well here. And I love Hastings, too. It's been wonderful being so close to family. You've been such a tremendous help and support to me, Sarah. I don't know what I'd have done without you. And then there's my work at the base, and all the friends I've made …" she trailed off, her voice husky. "A lot of things I'll miss here."

Sarah was watching her closely. She reached for the teapot and refilled both cups. "Is there something in particular you'll miss?" she asked quietly. "Or … someone, perhaps?"

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the ticking of the grandfather clock, while Katherine pondered her answer. She was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to unburden herself of a long-held secret. She sighed deeply. "Actually, there is," she said slowly. "There's something I haven't told you, Sarah. I've been … walking out with someone."

"Oh?" inquired Sarah gently.

Katherine nodded. "I'm sorry I kept it from you, but I felt … rather awkward about it. I know how much you adored Stephen and I didn't want to upset you."

Sarah cocked her head. "You could have told me, you know. Yes, Stephen was my favourite brother, but I hardly expect you to remain alone for the rest of your life. For heaven's sake, you're only thirty-seven! Tell me about this man. What is he like?"

"He's … kind," said Katherine slowly. "Solid and dependable. Quiet. A bit shy, perhaps, until you get to know him."

"Mmmm …" said Sarah in a speculative tone. "Sounds quite different to Stephen."

"I never really thought about it. Yes, he is different. More introspective. He's gentle and caring, like Stephen, but … reserved. Much less extroverted."

"Has he ever been married?"

"Yes. He's a widower."

"Children?"

"One son, grown. An RAF pilot."

"What sort of age is he?"

"Round about fifty, I think."

Sarah's eyebrows rose at this. "Is it serious?"

Katherine sighed again, shaking her head. "I don't think so. Not really."

"Well, perhaps that's just as well, darling."

"Why? Because of the move to Norfolk?"

"No - well, that too, of course. But he sounds a bit … staid, doesn't he?"

" _Staid_?"

"Well, I don't mean to offend you, darling, it's the way you described him … solid, dependable, reserved. Hardly some dashing fellow who's swept you off your feet."

"Good Lord, I did make him sound like somebody's old uncle, didn't I? I didn't mean to. Believe me, Sarah, he's far from staid! He's very … stimulating, actually." Katherine blushed a little, realising that her choice of words could be taken in more than one way. "I mean, he's very intelligent and perceptive. We talk for hours and hours …" No need to add that she found him stimulating in other ways as well.

Her sister-in-law nodded thoughtfully. "I see. How long have you known him?"

"Since last autumn."

"Where did you meet? At the base?"

"No. Remember that time Cecily went missing? He found her. That's how we met."

"He found her?" Sarah's forehead puckered in confusion.

"Yes. He's a police officer."

"A _police officer_?" Sarah repeated in astonishment.

"Yes. Why? Is that so surprising?"

"Well … it is, a bit. I don't believe I've ever known a policeman before – socially, I mean. They're not usually … well, Mama would say that they're not quite our sort."

Katherine set her cup in her saucer with an audible _clink_. "You know, Sarah, if there's one thing about England I'll never get used to, it's this _ridiculous_ class prejudice. It drives me mad! Christopher Foyle is one of the finest men I've ever known - kind, thoughtful, considerate, a gentleman in the truest sense of the word. And as a matter of fact, he's quite high-ranking in the police. He's something called a Detective Chief Superintendent, whatever that means. _Not_ that it should make any difference!"

Sarah looked archly at her. "Well," she said lightly. "Rather an impassioned response from someone who says she's not serious about this man, wouldn't you say?" Katherine realised to her chagrin that her sister-in-law had cleverly manipulated her into revealing more than she'd intended. She looked away, discomfited.

After an uncomfortable silence, Sarah rose and fetched a bottle of her husband's Irish whisky from the drinks cabinet. "I think," she said, tipping a small measure into each cup, "that this conversation calls for something a bit stronger than Earl Grey."

Neither woman spoke for a bit. "Are you in love with him?" Sarah asked softly.

There was a long pause before she answered. "I could be, I think … if I let myself." Katherine spoke very low, running a finger around the rim of her teacup. It was the first time she'd admitted to herself that her feelings for Christopher ran so deep. "But …"

Sarah waited. "But?"

"But … there's no point, Sarah. He doesn't seem interested in a future with me. We've had lovely times together, lots of them, but he's never even hinted about taking things any further. And really, why should he? He's done with child-raising. I can't expect him to get serious about a widow with a young child at this stage of his life."

"Do you think that's the problem? He doesn't like children?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. He's been wonderful to Cecily, actually. She's very fond of him. But teaching her to fly a kite on a Saturday afternoon is quite a different thing to … to making a permanent commitment." She sipped her whisky-laced tea.

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure about that?"

She nodded.

"Have you told him about this Norfolk business?"

"Yesterday."

"And he said …"

Katherine sighed. "Hardly anything. Just something about it being a long way away. And later he asked me to let him know what I decide." She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice.

Sarah pursed her lips. "I see. Not exactly what you might have hoped for, was it? I'm sorry, darling."

Katherine closed her eyes. Up until this moment she hadn't acknowledged, even to herself, how keenly disappointed she had felt by Christopher's reaction to her news. If he'd said or done something to indicate that he had real feelings for her, to give her hope of a future with him, she wouldn't hesitate to turn down this job. But … he had not. "So, that's that, then," she murmured resignedly, more to herself than to Sarah.

* * *

Christopher spent the afternoon on a long, solitary walk. He'd attended church that morning as usual, but as he shook the vicar's hand afterward it occurred to him that he hadn't taken in a single moment of the service. He pushed his away his half-eaten lunch, an unappetising bowl of tinned vegetable soup, and hunted out the old jacket he wore fishing. Perhaps a long ramble would help. He certainly wasn't fit for anything else.

His meanderings took him out of Hastings to the woods and fields beyond. It was all familiar territory, so he paid no particular attention to where his feet were carrying him until he emerged from a grove of trees and found himself in the meadow where he'd taken Katherine and Cecily the day before. _The place where she told me she's going away … to be near him. Sutcliffe._

He crossed to the riverbank and stood for some minutes with hands buried in his pockets, watching the spring current rush past. Being by the water usually calmed and soothed him, but not today. _Perhaps she'll be better off with him_ , he told himself glumly. _He's young and handsome. Rich, too, no doubt; he had the air of someone raised to wealth. If he's what she wants, then I have to let her go, no matter how much it hurts._ He bowed his head against a wave of grief.

At length he turned away, sighing, and with the corner of his eye caught a flash of something red-coloured in the distance. Instinctively he moved closer to investigate. It was Cecily's kite, still sitting under the tree where they'd left it the previous day, weighted down with rocks to keep it from blowing away. They'd forgotten to retrieve it after she fell in the river.

Fresh pain pierced him as he bent to pick it up. There would be no more kite-flying lessons with Cecily if she went to Norfolk. At least, not with him. _Maybe Sutcliffe will teach her_ , he thought bitterly.

He stood still, kite in his hands, as a sudden wave of anger swept over him. _Not bloody likely!_ Twenty-five years as a detective had made Christopher Foyle a quick study when it came to sizing up people. Even their brief meeting had been enough for him to judge Sutcliffe a selfish and shallow character. _He's not the sort of man to give Cecily the attention she needs. What kind of stepfather will he make? And he's divorced; he's abandoned one family already. Who's to say he won't do it again?_

 _And what about Katherine? What can she be thinking? Would she be happy with a man like that for a husband? That loud, brash, uncouth oaf? She thrives on serious conversation and he's an intellectual lightweight if ever I saw one. He may be good-looking and rich, but he's not right for her. He can't … love her the way I do._ On this last point, at least, he was utterly sure.

 _Bugger!_ he thought fiercely. _If I let her go it will be the biggest mistake I ever make. Not just for me, for both of them too. Somehow I have to try to stop her. I have to … tell her how I feel about her. Ask her to stay. There's nothing else for it. If she says no, she says no, but I have to try._

His back stiffened with resolve. He turned abruptly and headed back toward town, carrying Cecily's kite.

* * *

His determination didn't yield immediate results, however, for there was no answer to his knock. They must still be out in Battle. No matter, he decided. They should be back soon, as it was getting on to half-past four. He'd ring her later, ask if he could come see her after Cecily was in bed.

He tried to telephone her all evening without success. With each attempt, the double ring at the other end of the line repeated unceasingly. His frustration gradually changed to concern after darkness fell. Where could she be? Could something have happened to them? She always went out to Battle to fetch Cecily after working one of her Saturday-night shifts, he knew; it was part of her routine. But he'd never known her to be so late getting home.

A horrible thought sprang to mind. _Sutcliffe … oh, damn! What if she's with him?_ He cursed under his breath. The idea made him feel sick with jealousy. _Monday_ , he tried to tell himself, _she said she was going to give him her answer Monday_. But he was unable to banish the notion. Where else could she be, out so late?

He tried ringing once more at a quarter past nine. No luck. A few minutes later his own phone rang. It was Andrew. It was the first time Foyle had heard from him since his visit to Yorkshire three weeks ago, and he'd left his son in unsettled state of mind. _New girl?_ he wondered _._

When at last he rung off, Christopher looked at the mantel clock in the sitting room. Quarter to ten. Too late to call her now, he thought bleakly, his heart plummeting.

Suddenly he felt exhausted. He'd neither eaten nor slept much in the past twenty-four hours and all this emotional turmoil had sapped his stamina. He stumbled upstairs to bed, desperate for the oblivion of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4: Painful Reflections

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 **Part Four: Painful reflections**

Foyle was wrong, of course. Katherine _had_ spent the day in Battle, returning home much later than usual. After their long talk, Sarah had insisted that she lie down and try to rest. She surprised herself by sleeping soundly for nearly two hours, worn out by the release of unburdening herself. Physically refreshed by the nap, she decided that spiritual solace might help and slipped out to attend Evensong at the little stone church up the lane. When she returned Sarah was just putting supper on the table. It was nearly eight when they finally set out to catch the last bus home, just as rain began to fall.

As so often happened these days, the bus was late. The war had wreaked havoc on transport, so much so that most people had given up complaining and just accepted the inconveniences as normal and unavoidable. It was past nine o'clock when she steered a sleepy Cecily up the rain-soaked walk, fumbling with her keys. As they stepped into the hall she could hear her telephone ringing, but it stopped before she could get her flat door unlocked.

* * *

Sleep eluded Katherine that night. In the wee hours of the morning she gave up tossing and got up to warm herself some milk, trying feebly to blame her insomnia on the unaccustomed afternoon nap. Curled up on the sofa with her mug, she reflected at last on the painful truth that Sarah had forced her to face. _Christopher_.

Funny that she hadn't realised before how much he had come to mean to her. Her feelings had grown so gradually. When they first met she'd been so frantic over Cecily's disappearance that she had hardly noticed him, but even then his kindness and reassurance had struck her. She knew that it was only his calming presence that had kept her from succumbing to blind panic. And she would never forget the moment when he had brought her daughter safely back to her - a debt that could never be forgotten, never be repaid.

It was because of her gratitude that she had been willing to allow him glimpses into her life. She was acutely aware of the vulnerability of her widowed state, but Christopher Foyle had proven that he could be trusted absolutely. The revelation that he, too, had been widowed with a child had established an unspoken rapport between them.

She'd been a little taken aback when he'd asked her out to dinner. The idea of plunging into the uncertainties of stepping out with a man wasn't otherwise appealing, but with him she'd felt comfortable. Safe. He had a generous measure of the reticence she'd come to expect from most Englishmen, but when she probed beyond it she had discovered an unexpectedly fascinating man. Though he was no academic, as her Stephen had been, their conversations proved to be a intellectual adventure of the sort she hadn't enjoyed for a long time. She quickly came to admire his perceptiveness, his compassion, his integrity and especially the fact that he was a self-made man. Katherine had a very American respect for those who achieve success despite obstacles of wealth, class or education. His achievements put her in mind of her own father, who had risen from the backwoods of Virginia to own a flourishing business. But she hadn't, she realised, expected to warm to him _quite_ so much.

Just how much she had warmed to him became clear on only their second date, when she found herself in his arms. His first kisses had been gentle and tentative, but they had evolved swiftly into a stunningly passionate embrace. She'd been unexpectedly swept away by a desire that she hadn't truly believed she could feel with anyone but her late husband. In the end she had broken away, horrified and guilt-stricken by the discovery that another man's kiss could arouse her so.

There had been no repeat of the incident in the months that followed, which came as something of a relief at first. Oh, he had held her hand, danced with her, kissed her goodnight - but with a measured restraint which left her feeling increasingly dissatisfied as her feelings toward him grew. As the weeks passed she found herself wanting to cuddle with him, to loosen his tie and inhale his musky masculine scent, to feel his lips and hands caressing her. But she was far too shy to initiate such intimacies herself. She sensed that he had been holding himself back, but she'd never been able to guess why … until now.

 _He's not that serious about me, and he's too much of a gentleman to take things further when he knows that there's no future in it._ For proof, she need only remember his blank, emotionless expression when she'd told him she might move away. _I really thought he cared about me,_ she thought, closing her eyes against a wave of misery _. He's been so … attentive, all these months. And so sweet to Cecily. But what if … oh, God. What if he just felt sorry for us? Maybe it was all just sympathy for the war widow!_

She tasted salt on her lips and realised that tears were cascading down her cheeks. _How could I have been so stupid as to mistake his kindness for something more? I never should have let myself start caring about him so much! The first man to show any interest in me since Stephen's death and I lose all sense of perspective, like some silly schoolgirl. Oh,_ _what a fool I've been!_ Her shoulders shook with sobs of pain and humiliation

It was a long while before she straightened and took a deep, steadying breath, mopping her face with the sleeve of her dressing gown. _He must never, never know that I had such ridiculous hopes … It's just as well I'm going away. I can make a fresh start. Tomorrow I'll go see Charlie and tell him I want to start work as soon as possible._

* * *

Foyle was awake at dawn next morning. He had slept poorly again and his attempts to get back to sleep proved fruitless. Giving up, he dragged himself out of bed and pushed back the heavy blackout curtains. The steady rain which had been falling all night showed no signs of abating; the grey, dismal skies matched his mood perfectly.

Mechanically, he shaved and dressed for work, then went downstairs to scrounge something for breakfast. He had forgotten to get in the shopping on Saturday, so toast and tea would have to do. His mind was a million miles away as his hands went through the motions of boiling the kettle and slicing the bread. Should he try ringing Katherine again? There seemed little point, if she'd been with Sutcliffe the evening before. Probably everything was settled by now. _If_ she'd been with him …

He was out of margarine, so the toast was dry and tasteless, but he didn't notice. He poured out some tea and stared stupidly at the clear steaming liquid for several seconds before he realised what was wrong. "Bugger!" he said aloud. If he was so distracted that he couldn't remember to add the bloody tea leaves, then how on earth could he expect to be of any use at work today? He rubbed a weary hand over his forehead. _I simply can't go on like this! I feel like I'm losing my mind …_

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back from the table. "Right," he muttered grimly. "Enough of this rubbish." He strode to the telephone.

"Sergeant Rivers? Foyle here. Listen, when Sam gets in, tell her not to come round for me this morning, would you? I won't be in today. And let Sergeant Milner know too, please … Right. Thank you."

* * *

It was just before nine o'clock. Christopher Foyle was standing under a dripping chestnut tree across from St. James's School, waiting.

This, he had decided, was the only thing he could to do, unable as he was to bear the uncertainty any longer. He knew she always walked Cecily to school at about this time. He would waylay her and beg her to hear him out. Surely she owed him that much. He fingered the handle of his umbrella but otherwise stood quite still, watching down Mount Pleasant Road.

His heart thudded painfully when he saw them approaching. They were moving quickly along the opposite pavement, huddled together under a large black umbrella. Katherine, characteristically, angled the umbrella so that it shielded her daughter more than herself from the driving rain. Neither of them noticed him as they hurried across the schoolyard. He watched Katherine bend to kiss the child, helping her wrestle the heavy door open. Only when it swung closed did she turn away.

At the gate she turned left and started toward the high street. He had expected her to go right, toward home, but then noticed the shopping basket over her arm. Hurriedly Christopher crossed the road, quickening his step to catch up with her. "Katherine!" he called.

.


	5. Chapter 5: Face to Face

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 **Part Five: Face to face**

Katherine turned toward him and her eyes went wide. "Christopher! What on earth … what are you doing here?"

He moved closer. "I need to speak to you. Please."

She blinked in astonishment. "Why? What is it? Is something wrong?"

"Not … here. Please, if we could just …" he gestured up the street with a jerk of his head. After a pause, she nodded and moved in the direction he'd indicated.

 _What in the world?_ she wondered as he fell into step beside her. Her pain and humiliation of the night before had been forgotten when she glimpsed his expression. She'd never seen him look so upset before; he was always so reserved, so _controlled_. Something must be terribly wrong for him to seek her out this way. She shot him a worried glance out of the corner of her eye as they walked, but he said nothing else.

With a flash of horror she realised what must have happened – the only thing, she was sure, that could put such a devastated expression on Christopher Foyle's face. _Oh, dear God, no! Not that, please …_ she thought, her heart sinking. _Hasn't the poor man suffered enough loss already?_

Before she knew it he was ushering her in the front door of his house on Steep Lane. She had only been in his home once before, one evening back in December when an unexpected air-raid had forced them to seek shelter here. Mechanically she set down her basket and umbrella and let him hang her coat and hat on the hall-stand, bracing herself for the bad news she was sure was coming. He stood back to let her precede him into the sitting room. "Do sit down," he said stiffly. "Would you like tea, or …"

But Katherine was too anxious by now to spare time for pleasantries. "Just tell me, Christopher," she said, her wide dark eyes searching his face. "Is it Andrew?"

He looked blank. "What?"

"Has … has something happened to him?"

"No, no! He's fine," he assured her. "Rang last night, in fact."

Naked relief crossed her face. "Oh, thank God! I was afraid -"

"It's nothing like that. Please have a seat, Katherine." She sank down on the settee, her face regaining its puzzlement. He remained standing, hands jammed in his pockets, and drew in a deep breath to summon his courage. "About this job. Have you accepted it?"

Her eyebrows went up. "The job? No, not yet. I'm supposed to meet Charlie for lunch."

"But you're going to?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

Christopher's heart plummeted. His penetrating eyes locked onto hers, blue and intense. "Katherine. I don't want you to go."

"Well, I don't _want_ to go either, Christopher, but I'm afraid it's … necessary."

His brow furrowed. _Necessary_? _What in God's name does she mean by that?_ "Exactly how is it _necessary_?"

The question seemed to annoy her. Her chin went up and she drew her breath sharply. There was a touch of steel in her voice when she answered. "Well, if I _must_ spell it out … prices keep rising, but my Navy widow's pension hasn't. I need to find a job. I don't like the idea of moving to Norfolk but the fact is I really can't afford not to."

His eyes widened with astonishment. Money? Not because of Sutcliffe? _Oh, Christ! What kind of a fool am I? The simplest, most obvious reason, and I never even considered … and I'm supposed to be a ruddy detective!_ Regaining his voice, he stammered, "Why … why didn't you _tell_ me?"

She stiffened and gave him a reproachful look and he immediately regretted his words. How could he have forgotten? She was independent and proud and stubbornly self-reliant. This, he reminded himself bleakly, was the woman who had pushed her daughter's kidnapper into a canal rather than scream for help. Of _course_ she wouldn't have told him she was having financial difficulties; he'd wager that she'd probably gone to some trouble to keep it from him. "I'm … sorry," he said haltingly. Wounding her pride, he knew, was not likely to help his suit.

She answered stiffly. "It's nothing you need fret about. I've managed quite well up to now. It's just … well, doctor's bills, you know … and my landlady is raising our rent next month. But this job pays very well, and I can work while Cecily is in school. It's ideal."

"Except that it's a hundred miles away!"

Suddenly she was on her feet facing him, her eyes flashing. "Yes, it is, but there's nothing I can do about that," she cried in a voice thick with repressed emotion. "Do you think I _want_ to start all over in a strange place for the hundredth time? Do you think I _want_ to drag Cecily away from everything that's familiar? I don't have any _choice_ , Christopher!"

Her words hung in the air. A glimmer of hope began to shimmer inside him. If she really didn't _want_ to go … He took another deep breath, searching for the right words. "Yes, you do," he told her quietly. "You could come live with me. Here."

She blinked at him in astonishment, then recoiled slightly as the implications of his words sank in. " _What_?"

"As my _wife_ , Katherine," he clarified hastily. "I want you to marry me."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, looking thunderstruck. He swallowed hard, waiting for her to say something. When she had recovered enough to speak, her voice quavered as though she were fighting back tears. "Christopher … you can't _do_ this."

"Do what?"

"Propose to me out of … pity!"

" _Pity_?" he burst out. "Katherine, for God's sake! You can't really believe that!" After a pause he added more quietly, "You've become very important to me these past months, you and Cecily. I want us … to be a family. Please."

She closed her eyes to blink back the tears that suddenly threatened to overflow. _A family_ … the word conjured images of love and tenderness and security, of everything that she and Cecily had lost when Stephen's ship went down. The prospect of finding it again with Christopher took her breath away. There was no doubting his sincerity; it was written only too clearly on his face. "M-marry you?" she echoed numbly.

He drew his hands from his pockets and reached out to her uncertainly, heart in his throat. "Yyyyes."

He never knew which of them moved first, only that suddenly they were in each other's arms. He closed his eyes and held her tightly, as though fearing she might slip away. She was real and solid and warm and alive, a thousand times more substantial than his lonely fantasies. After a long moment she choked, "Christopher … why did you never … I mean, you … you never said … never even _hinted_ …"

"I know," he murmured, not releasing her. "Didn't think you were ready." _And I don't know if you're ready now …_

"But even the other day, when I told you about Norfolk … you didn't say a word."

"Too shocked, y'know … and then Cecily chose that precise moment to fall in the river …"

She gave a queer gasp, half-sob, half-laugh, before burying her face against his shoulder. He waited, his heart pounding as he tried to guess what she was feeling. Finally she pulled back in his arms and looked up at him, moving her hands up to his shoulders. Her eyes were moist. "Are you sure?" she asked shakily. "I mean … marriage? It would be such an enormous change, Christopher. Your peaceful life here … everything would be so different. Living with Cecily is _not_ particularly peaceful, you know."

The glimmer of hope blossomed into a steady glow. "I've had more than enough peace and quiet since Andrew left home," he told her firmly. "Yes, very sure, Katherine. For quite a while now." Her eyes widened at this admission. "So … will you?"

A tremulous smile spread across her face. "Yes," she breathed, tightening her arms around him again. "Of course. _Yes_!" A wild, impossible thrill shot through him as he hugged her back. For a long time they stood frozen, locked in a tight embrace, both of them savouring the transcendent joy of this moment.

At length she drew back slightly and he felt her small, soft hand touching his face. Wordlessly she caressed his cheek, then delicately traced the shape of his lips with a forefinger. He closed his eyes against the wave of desire stirred by her touch. His lips found hers, claiming her mouth tenderly at first, then with passionate kisses that melded them breathlessly together. All his longing for her over the past weeks and months welled up uncontrollably as his hands began at last to explore her soft curves. She moaned huskily, her body shuddering at the excitement aroused by his sure, knowing touch. Her response urged him on, spurring his hunger into an overpowering need.

After an immeasurable time, he tried reluctantly to break away, fighting for breath. He had had no thought of taking her to his bed when he brought her back to his house, but now he could think of nothing else. _No, I mustn't,_ he tried to convince himself foggily. _We'll be married soon, we should wait_ … If he didn't stop very soon, he realised, he wouldn't be able to. "Katherine," he murmured raggedly into her hair, searching for words to call a halt. "D'you think we should … er … " _O God, how can I possibly think when she's nibbling below my earlobe like that?_ " … um … go upstairs?"

He froze, horrified. _Bloody hell! Where did that come from?_

Cursing himself inwardly, he waited for her response, sure she would be offended by his presumption. It seemed an eternity before she gasped, "Yes. Oh, yes …" Her breath was hot and moist against his neck.

He swallowed hard and drew back enough to search her eyes, unable to believe he'd heard correctly. "You sure?"

She nodded, eyes glowing with love and desire.

He didn't hesitate further. His whole body throbbing with anticipation, he slipped an arm round her waist and guided her swiftly upstairs.


	6. Chapter 6: The Past and the FUture

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 **Part Six: The past and the future**

Katherine stirred from her doze and opened her eyes. She stared in confusion for an instant at the unfamiliar bedroom, her mind registering warm naked skin spooning close behind her, a hand curled possessively round the fullness of her breast, a satiated languor in her own limbs. A thrill of shock made her body go rigid. _Oh, my God! What have I done?_

Carefully she eased her body out from beneath his encircling arm and sat up, turning to look down at the sleeping man. With an indistinct murmur, he rolled onto his stomach, his deep, peaceful slumber undisturbed by her movement. A sudden warmth rippled through her body at the sight. _He asked me to marry him!_ she thought in wonder. _And I said yes! And then we …_ _we …_ _oh, my goodness_! Her cheeks flamed as she remembered the way he'd made her feel only a short while ago.

 _What on earth possessed me?_ she wondered. _It's madness! I've never done anything so impetuous in my life!_ It was true. Her marriage to Stephen had been over two years in the making, and she'd remained a virgin until her wedding night. Being swept away by her feelings in this headlong way was a new and completely unexpected experience. But try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to regret what had happened. _I love him,_ she thought. _I love him desperately. I was up half the night crying because I was convinced he didn't care. I know he'll be good to us, and I really think I can make him happy._ And while she was more than a little shocked at her own passionate surrender, she couldn't bring herself to feel guilt over going to bed with him. It hadn't felt illicit or clandestine, but … natural. Inevitable, even. _As though we were already married._ _Oh, my darling Christopher_ … she resisted the sudden impulse to lean down and kiss him. He looked utterly exhausted, poor man. Better to let him sleep.

Pushing back her tumbled hair, she stood and reached for the dressing gown hanging on the bedpost. Tying the sash securely round her slender form, she tiptoed from the room. She felt much too keyed up to sleep herself. And she needed some time to take in what had just happened and the enormous changes that it was bound to bring to her life.

Pausing for a moment in the upper hall, she looked curiously around. _This will be my home soon,_ she thought. _Our home._ The thought brought an incredulous smile to her face.

She peered in the doorway of the back bedroom opposite Christopher's. Andrew's room, of course. It was simply furnished with a single bed, a chest of drawers, a small desk and a bookcase. Plain blue curtains hung at the single window and the cream-painted walls were adorned with photographs of school friends and a rather faded poster of the Sussex cricket side. Katherine mentally replaced the coverlet with her daughter's favourite patchwork quilt and imagined the room adorned with a little girl's clutter of dolls, toys and hair ribbons. She gave a small nod of satisfaction. Yes, this would do very well for Cecily. Crossing the room, she looked down through the bare branches of an elm at the small patch of neglected green below. _Hmmm … I wonder if Christopher would mind if I put in a bit of garden?_

Descending the stairs, she examined the downstairs rooms properly for the first time. A series of delicate watercolours hung in the hall near a framed collection of fishing flies. Sitting room and dining room were cosy and unpretentious, a bit cluttered, perhaps, but with a pleasantly homey air. A framed photograph on the desk caught her eye and she crossed the room to pick it up. This must be Rosalind, Christopher's late wife. Katherine knew little about her, as he had spoken of her but rarely. She had dark hair styled in marcel waves, brown eyes like Andrew's and a rather wistful expression. Studying the face of the long-dead woman, Katherine felt no jealousy, only sadness that her life had been cut short so tragically.

She replaced the picture and moved on to the kitchen. It was rather dark and gloomy for her taste, its situation not enhanced by its north-facing aspect. _Could do with a fresh coat of paint,_ she couldn't help noticing, though she knew full well that the war had made paint unavailable. But it was spacious enough to hold a small table and was equipped with a small refrigerator and a generously proportioned larder. Katherine was far from displeased; she had coped with far worse kitchens in the various cottages and flats that she and her first husband had occupied during the years they had moved from one university town to another. _And it's ours,_ she reminded herself. The thought made her smile again. _Oh, how delightful to know that we can stay in a place and not have to move on every year!_ She hugged herself a little, as though trying to convince herself that it was true, then laughed softly at herself as she moved to fill the kettle.

* * *

The ringing of the telephone jerked Christopher out of a deep sleep. He pushed himself up one elbow and blinked in confusion, trying to work out what was different. Then he remembered. _Katherine_. He froze.

A torrent of memories flooded through his mind in a split second. _Oh, my God._ She had agreed to stay in Hastings, to _marry_ him. And if that weren't unbelievable enough, she had let him make love to her. Incredible, passionate, explosive lovemaking, far exceeding his most erotic fantasies. Then drifting off to sleep holding her in his arms. His heart began to pound, remembering. The hollow in the pillow next to his and the faint traces of her scent drifting up from the sheets were enough to convince him that it hadn't been a dream. But … where was she now? Had she left?

The persistent ringing from downstairs yanked him back to the present. Swinging his feet to the floor, he reached automatically for his dressing gown which usually hung on the bedpost. It wasn't there. Nor hanging on the back of the door. Nowhere to be seen, in fact. Reluctant to venture downstairs to answer the phone in his current state of undress, Christopher hesitated. Then the ringing abruptly ceased and Katherine's soft voice drifted up the stairs. "Hello?"

So she was still in the house. Rational thought began to return as he noticed items of her clothing scattered around the bedroom along with his own. He was wondering if he should collect his clothes and dress when Katherine's next words caught his attention.

"Yes, I'll hold for Colonel Sutcliffe …" Christopher stiffened.

"Charlie? Yes, this is Katherine … No, I'm afraid I won't be able to make lunch today after all. I've decided I cannot accept the job. … I'm sorry, Charlie, but I have to do what's best for my daughter and me and this just isn't … well, there are a lot of reasons, really, but the main one is that I'm not willing to move to Norfolk. … Well, it's far enough … Listen, Charlie, my mind is quite made up and wheedling is not going to change it, so you might as well save your breath. If a similar position ever became available near Hastings I'd certainly be interesting in discussing it, but I cannot accept a job in Norfolk … I do appreciate your thinking of me, Charlie … Goodbye." There was a soft _clunk_ as she replaced the receiver in its cradle.

Christopher sank back against the headboard, his mind churning. He was certainly pleased she'd turned down the job, but why hadn't she told the man she was getting married? Was she having second thoughts? He frowned.

His musings were interrupted by a light step on the stairs. The frown melted away at the sight of Katherine in the bedroom doorway, carrying a tray and wearing his missing dressing gown. When she saw him sitting up in bed she broke into a radiant smile.

"You're awake! I hoped you might be." She set the tray on the bureau and leaned over to kiss him tenderly. "Good morning. Or should I say good afternoon?"

"What? What time is it?" The heady sensation of her kiss did little to help clear his befuddled mind.

"Nearly noon."

"Noon!" He gave his head a bemused shake.

"You look as if you could do with a cup of tea."

"Seems you brought more than that," he replied, looking at the tray.

"Indeed I did. I thought some sustenance was in order, so I foraged. What would you say to luncheon in bed?" She set the tray on the bed and stretched out next to it, propping herself up on her elbow. "After all, I can hardly expect you to live on love, can I?"

He raised an eyebrow, appreciating the tantalising glimpse of cleavage peeking out underneath the robe. "W-e-e-ell, no. Not if you expect such, er, _energetic_ demonstrations of it ..."

The melodious laugh rippled, her cheeks flushing pink. "Christopher!"

He was delighted. He couldn't remember the last time he'd teased a woman and made her blush. God, she was adorable, wrapped in his dull grey plaid dressing gown with her hair all tousled and those beautiful eyes sparkling at him. And she was his! He still couldn't quite believe it. He couldn't resist pulling her over for a lingering kiss. When he finally relinquished her lips, she gave a contented sigh and nuzzled his cheek before fixing him with a mock-stern glare.

"Enough of that. Eat, before it gets cold!"

She had scrounged together some bread and cheddar and produced little triangular melted cheese sandwiches along with thin slices of apple and glasses of ginger beer. "Not much of a meal, I'm afraid, but I did the best I could," apologised Katherine. "The state of your larder is a _disgrace_ , Detective Chief Superintendent."

"I'll plead guilty to that, Katherine. But this … this is perfect. You'll spoil me."

"I intend to do just that." They smiled at each other.

When their simple meal was done, she poured them each a cup of tea, moved the tray back to the bureau and snuggled contentedly against the headboard next to him. "By the way, I rang Charlie Sutcliffe and turned down that job."

"Good," said Christopher decisively. "I overheard. Did he ring you here? I heard the phone."

"Mmmm-hmmm," Katherine nodded over her teacup. "He was in a meeting when I called so I had to leave a message. He put up a bit of a fuss, but I expected that. Charlie's not used to having people say no to him."

"I see. But …" he hesitated a moment before curiosity won out. "If you don't mind my asking - why you didn't tell him we're getting married?"

She looked surprised. "Why, it never occurred to me to tell him. That's personal. And there are more important people we ought to tell first, don't you think? Like Cecily? And Andrew?"

Foyle nodded, feeling a little ashamed of himself. "Of course … quite right."

She eyed him shrewdly as she sipped her tea. "Why all this interest in Charlie Sutcliffe? It's not just about the job, is it? You don't like him, do you?"

"Well, since you ask - no, I don't. Found him shallow and brash."

Her eyebrows went up. "I see. Well spotted, Christopher. Most people don't see through him that quickly - but then, you're a good judge of character, aren't you?"

It was his turn to be surprised. "I beg your pardon?"

"Charlie Sutcliffe is the most superficial, conceited, self-centred man I've ever known."

He shook his head in bewilderment. "What? Then why on earth were you going to go to work for him?"

"I wasn't going to be working for him! He's helping organise the air bases but he's not going to be permanently assigned to headquarters. In due time he'll move on to helping plan the next sector. Heavens, I _never_ would have considered the job if it had meant working for Charlie!"

"But you said he was an old friend …"

"No, no, I said he _married_ an old friend of mine. Eleanor Palmer, from Wellesley."

"And then, well … he kissed you, that night at the Royal Victoria …"

She rolled her eyes. "Lord, yes, and wasn't _that_ just typical of Charlie. He _reeked_ of bourbon, you know … Wait a minute. You didn't think he was an old beau of mine or something, did you?"

"Well, I … I wasn't sure. Cleary you were uncomfortable with him … "

"Egad! What do you take me for? Charlie Sutcliffe? _Please_!" Katherine made a face as she set her cup and saucer on the bedside table and combed her hair back from her forehead with her fingers. "I may have been young when I first knew him, but I was never _that_ foolish! The man has the intellectual depth of a – a _pineapple_! _And_ the sensitivity, I might add. I've seen him at his finest, and it's not a pretty sight.

"Charlie was at Harvard, two years ahead of me, when I was at Wellesley. His family owns a major pharmaceutical company and he made no secret of the fact that he was rolling in money. He had the flashiest clothes, the plushest racoon coat and the loudest yellow Packard you ever saw. Life of every party, knew where every speakeasy could be found within a ten-mile radius of Boston. Half the girls at Wellesley were mad about him and I think he dated every one of them at least once. But _not_ me. I was bookish - no smoking, no spooning, no speakeasies. Definitely not Charlie's type. And I wasn't the least bit impressed with that "hail-fellow-well-met" of his.

"Toward the end of our sophomore year he settled his attentions on my friend Eleanor, who was thrilled to pieces. She thought the sun rose and set on him. She squealed down the dorm the night he proposed and dropped out of college without a second thought. Before we knew it there were twelve of us parading down the aisle of a New York society church in pink satin, watching Eleanor wed her pharmaceutical prince." She pursed her lips in exaggerated disapproval.

"They settled down to the country-club life and Charlie went to work in the family firm, using that famous charm to swing deals left and right. From what I understand, he used it on women left and right, too. He led poor Eleanor a merry dance but she closed her eyes, determined to make things work. Anyway, after about ten years he decided he was bored and left a note on her dressing table saying he was leaving. He walked out on her and the children – they have three – without even saying goodbye."

"Hmmm," Christopher grunted. Katherine gave him a knowing look.

"Classy fellow, isn't he? It nearly killed poor Eleanor. I don't think she's ever gotten over it, and it's been six or seven years now. We still correspond, you see - she sends me her daughter's outgrown clothes for Cecily - and I visited her in New York a few years ago when we were in Pennsylvania. But I hadn't seen Charlie since before they split up, and believe me, he's the last person I expected to run into here in Hastings. _Uncomfortable?_ Christopher, I was trying to restrain myself from kicking him in the shins! Not to mention that he personifies every negative stereotype about Americans – loud, rude, pushy. A complete embarrassment. And I was flabbergasted to see him in uniform. _Charlie Sutcliffe_ serving his country? The only thing he's ever served up to now is cocktails! If _he's_ any example of what the United States Army is coming up with for officers, the Allies are in big trouble!"

Christopher couldn't prevent a smile, reassured by her animated account and struck by how closely it reflected his own assessment of the man. His jealousy had dissipated completely, but his logical mind was still puzzled about one thing.

"But that night you asked after his wife and he said they'd broken up – surely you knew about that already? You said he and your friend divorced years ago."

"Oh, I didn't mean Eleanor. After he deserted her, he married some twenty-two-year-old meat-packing heiress from Chicago. But apparently he's split up with her now as well." Katherine shook her head dismissively.

"I see. Well, I must say I wish you'd told me all this before."

"Why? I really couldn't see any point in spoiling a lovely evening with you discussing Charlie Sutcliffe's appalling behaviour. Moreover, I think we've wasted quite enough time on the subject now! Can't we find something more interesting to talk about?"

For answer, Christopher leaned over and kissed her. "We certainly can," he told her huskily when he broke away. "Such as … how soon can we get married?"

Katherine's cheeks went pink again. "Oh, my!" she said, a shy smile spreading across her face. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

"Well, that's just it. Don't want to waste any more time."

Understanding that he meant he didn't want to be alone any longer, her eyes softened. "Well, my love, you're the one who's been planning this, not me. I've only had a couple of hours to take it all in. First things first - don't you think we should talk to the children?"

It was the first time she had ever addressed him with such an endearment and he felt a warm pleasure at the words. He didn't remark on it, though. "Of course. I'll ring Andrew tonight."

Her expression turned serious, and she fixed him with a searching look. "You don't think it's going to upset him, do you? Us getting married?"

"On the contrary, I think he'll be pleased. But what about Cecily? Have you any idea how she's likely to react?"

"It might take her a little time to get used to it, but I don't think she'll mind. She's very fond of you already, you know. But if we want to keep it quiet until we've sorted out our plans, maybe we'd better not tell her just yet. My little chatterbox is _not_ good at keeping secrets. Once she knows we might as well announce it on the Home Service."

Christopher smiled. "That's fair warning. So what if we were to have the banns read in a fortnight or so? Then we could get married round the middle of May - if you want a church wedding, that is."

"Yes, I would like a church wedding. But it will have to be small, Christopher. I hope you don't mind." He knew she meant that anything too showy would be unseemly for a widow of not quite two years.

"Not at all. No need for a lot of fuss." She smiled at him. "So, six weeks, then? Unless …"

"Unless?"

"Well, this is a bit … indelicate, but perhaps we ought to think about … that is, I wasn't exactly careful earlier. If you think there's a chance you could be …" Her smile faded and he felt her stiffen. "I'm sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?"

"No … no, you didn't. You're right, that's something we really need to talk about." She shifted next to him so she could look him squarely in the face. "How do you feel about … children?"

He pursed his lips thoughtfully, "Well, if that's something you want, then of course ... would you want another baby?"

She shook her head. "No, that's not what I asked. I don't want you tell me what you think I want to hear. Please, Christopher. It's important to me to know how you really feel about this." Her eyes were dark and serious.

He looked at her closely, trying to guess what was in her mind, but her expression was unreadable. He reached over and took her hand, interlacing their fingers. "If we were to have a child, Katherine, I would love it and raise it as best I could, of course. That said, I'm forty-nine years old and I can't deny that I find the prospect of starting a new family to be a bit daunting. I'd be well into my dotage before any children of ours were grown."

She dropped her gaze to her lap, avoiding his eye, and his heart sank. He was afraid he'd disappointed her, but he knew he had to be honest.

Katherine drew a deep breath. "Well, I don't think you need lose any sleep over it," she replied, very low. "Having babies … turned out to be something I wasn't very good at."

He cocked his head, looking at her questioningly. "Oh?" he prompted, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"I had three miscarriages before Cecily," she said softly, still not looking at him. "Then, when she was almost three, we had a son. Stillborn. He came much too early, and I haemorrhaged … I had a very bad time. The doctors said later I shouldn't expect to conceive again. So if having more children is important to you, Christopher, you might … want to reconsider."

Gently he raised her chin so he could look into her eyes. "Absolutely not!" he told her firmly. "You and Cecily are all I could possibly want." He pulled her close and her arms went tightly around him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered as he slid them down to a reclining position on the bed, one hand stroking her hair.

She buried her face in his shoulder again. "Oh, my love. Life can be so hard sometimes, can't it?"

"Yes," he said thickly, his voice muffled by her hair. "Losing the ones we love, the war … but for all that I feel very lucky, you know. I never expected to fall in love again at this stage of my life. Starting all over again with a new family. I love you, Katherine."

"And I you, Christopher," she whispered against his shoulder.

They lay in silence for a long time, cradling each other close. The steady drumming of the rain against the windows only added to the curious sensation of being sheltered in a loving cocoon. Christopher wished he could capture the bliss of this moment and preserve it forever.

Gradually he became aware of Katherine's hand languidly caressing his bare shoulder. Almost imperceptibly, the gesture changed from one of comfort to something more sensual. His felt his pulse quicken. After a time she pushed herself up on one elbow and began to rain soft kisses across the light smattering of hair on his chest. He lay still, transfixed by the enticing feeling of her lips travelling slowly up his throat, nibbling lightly on his earlobe. Her hand drifted down to stroke his chest, his stomach, then lower, her light, teasing touch driving him wild. In all his sleepless nights thinking about her he'd never imagined her arousing him like this, so tender yet so intensely exciting. When at last her fingers brushed tantalisingly over his rigid erection through the sheet, he couldn't suppress a deep groan of pleasure.

"My turn," he grunted, tightening his arms around her. With a single smooth motion he rolled them both over, pushing her onto her back. He silenced her gasp of surprise with a passionate kiss before tugging deliberately at the sash of the dressing gown. Leaning over her, he languorously kissed and caressed her body until she was writhing in anticipation, savouring the delights of becoming acquainted with every inch of soft skin. Finally, when he could wait no longer, he pushed gently inside her.

Unlike their first explosive encounter, this time their coupling lasted a long, long time. The twin experiences of intense physical pleasure and emotional closeness blended together into a kind of intimacy that Christopher found overwhelming. Wanting only to touch every part of her, know every part of her, and for her to know and touch him in return, he could feel the last of the defences he'd built up over the years come crashing down. When at last he heard her cry out and felt her body spasm with ecstasy, he thought he would explode with sheer joy.

When the waves of rapturous pleasure at last died away, he pushed himself up on his elbows above her, trying to catch his breath. Unexpectedly she pulled him back down so his head rested against her soft shoulder. "Don't go," she gasped in his ear. "Not yet."

"I don't want to crush you," he murmured.

"You're not," she whispered back. "You just feel so wonderful …"

Would she never cease to surprise him? he wondered as they lay clasping each other while he gradually softened inside her inviting warmth. When he finally slipped out of her body, he rolled off onto his side, pressing her close to him.

This time it was Katherine who fell asleep, exhausted by the intensity of their lovemaking. Christopher lay beside her, gazing tenderly at her and marvelling at the quirk of fortune that had brought her into his life. He couldn't imagine what he'd done to deserve her love, but he knew he couldn't bear to live without her.

 _Finis_


End file.
